He’s not Karl…

Mr Armani opened his store in New York this week. He commemorated the occasion by blogging, for the first time ever, with the NY Times. It’s the best, best, BEST way to end your week.

I can hear him, I can see him waving his hand, blinking slowly, inhaling with impatience… sigh. If only I could come back as a 20 year old living in Europe, getting my ass kicked by some fashion designer. Imagine hearing these comments all day long.

A few highlights courtesy Mr Armani:

My usual driver, Jonathan, was waiting to pick me up outside in a small black Audi. It was a nice car, but I told him to bring a van tomorrow. Please, I need more room.

Please! I need more room!

!!!!!

On how Europeans eat better than Americans:

I ate spaghetti con pomodoro and basilico — and, here, I must interject something for your benefit. Americans overcook their pasta. Always. And there’s too much sauce. Too much of everything! Please, try to control yourselves.

Are you dying? There’s more.

Americans are dressed too casually!

They took me to a club called Cielo. We stayed until 2 a.m., and many people were surprised to see me and asked for photos and autographs. Such friendly people. The music was incredible and I had a lot of fun. While I sipped on a vodka, I noticed that the crowd was dressed in a rather basic way. In Europe, the people you see at clubs are extremely beautiful to look at and are wearing very elegant clothes. I don’t know, maybe I went to the wrong club.

He never takes a break!

Since I do not speak English, I use a translator to help out. I’m the king of multitasking, even during interviews. While she repeats things back in English, I use the 10 second break to tell my staff in Italian how to set the tables.

No one should be taller than him:

This trip has been full of firsts. In addition to writing my first blog, I also took a plunge into reality TV. It was for Rachel Zoe, who came to interview me for her reality stylist show. She was wearing a feather coat (nice, but not mine) and very high pin needle heels. I went up on my tiptoes to see if I could be taller. Then my niece Roberta came over to serve as the translator. I said, “Please, dear, come down,” and Roberta took off her high heels and stood on a towel during the segment. What a girl!

People who ride the subway are poor and should receive our charity:

Caroline and I decided to hop on the subway on our way back down to the city center, which turned out to be a much faster way of getting back. It was really crowded when we got on at 161st Street, but later I sat down next to a nice lady in a North Face puffer jacket and ski hat. She told me she assisted elderly people, and I asked to see her card. I told her, “Who knows when I might need your help?” Just kidding, of course. When I got up, I left her my own scarf as a parting gift.